


draw upon that luminous sky

by Pameluke



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Canon Temporary Character Death(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Joe and Nicky through the ages, Love Bites, M/M, Marking, Relationship Study, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:42:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27199351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pameluke/pseuds/Pameluke
Summary: From the moment they first killed each other, Nicolo left a mark on Yusuf. In return, Yusuf has found a thousand ways to do the same.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 13
Kudos: 151
Collections: Fic In A Box





	draw upon that luminous sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merle_p](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merle_p/gifts).



##  **1099**

The blood wells up from the fresh wound slowly. Far too slow to kill the man in front of him. Yusuf has killed him seven times before, so he's not sure whether that matters any longer. But it seems that as many times as the Frank rises, so too does Yusuf, and Yusuf is tired of it all. So tired.

He wants rest.

He doesn’t get what he wants. Instead, the Frank charges at him again, seemingly undeterred by the blood seeping down his arm, or by the fact that he has died on Yusuf's sword multiple times before. _To be fair to the Frank,_ Yusuf thinks as he parries and deflects, the power of the Frank's blow reverberating through his whole body, _I have died at the Frank's hand seven times now, so he has reason to keep trying._

They charge and swing their blades, stepping around each other to navigate the maze of slain bodies on the battlefield, grunting and cursing at each other. Exhaustion fills Yusuf, creeping into his bones until he aches with it so deeply it seems like it’s a part of him. They're both bleeding now from wounds too shallow to kill them immediately but serious enough that, eventually, they'll bleed out. Or they should, if all were right with the world.

Today, the fight had started with the blistering sun hanging bright in the sky above the battlefield, but she's sinking towards the horizon now. Yusuf isn’t sure whether it's due to the change in light, or whether it's because the Frank is tilting his head just so. In any case, Yusuf suddenly notices that, while there is still drying blood darkening the Frank's tunic and shoulder, the wound that Yusuf had struck with his sword has disappeared, not even leaving a scar.

At the sight of the unblemished skin showing through the torn fabric, Yusuf cries out in rage. The blood, the fighting, the violence, it will all be for nothing if his enemy - if this _demon_ \- won't be harmed. 

His own aching body forgotten, Yusuf presses forward, fueled by rage and despair, by the fact that he might have to fight like this until the end of time, until they're the only living beings left on this earth, each desperately trying to snuff out the other's life for good.

Whether by Yusuf's skill or the Frank's own exhaustion, a mistake is made at last, and the Frank trips over one of his fallen comrades’ bodies. Yusuf shoves him, all too happy to aid him in his fall, and the Frank falls with an outraged cry, his face distorted by fury. Yusuf kicks his sword away and then dives on top of him, restraining him with arms and legs, with the weight of his body. The Frank struggles, hissing foreign curses at him, his body undulating under Yusuf's. But he too is exhausted, and soon enough, he stops moving, glaring up at Yusuf. 

They've been fighting for two days now, killing each other over and over again, and even before that, the battle had seemed to rage forever. The Frank's tunic is ragged and torn where Yusuf's sword has cut through it, caked with blood and mud from their many falls and deaths. At some point, the Frank had lost parts of his armor, either from being looted while he was dead or some parts taken off when the heat had become too much. It's all too easy for Yusuf to pull at the fabric and bare the Frank’s throat and chest. The Frank struggles until Yusuf holds his sword against his throat, the bloody blade hovering a breath away from that stubborn, relentless pulse.

The Frank freezes.

 _They cannot die_ , Yusuf thinks, _not truly_ . Yet the instinct for survival is so primal, it still drives them both. He can feel the Frank’s heart beat under his fingers, can feel all that pent up power and _life_ , held back by the touch of his sword.

Yusuf looks at the Frank's bare skin, at the smudges of dried blood, and growls under his breath. He struck him. He made him bleed. He _killed_ him. But with this curse that has befallen them, this demon witchery, it's like Yusuf had never broken the skin. Never touched him. Never left a mark.

Yusuf presses down a little, feeling the skin give under his sword, hearing the man hiss at the feeling of it. He sees the blood appear once more, a crimson slash across that once-more unmarred skin, and he can't stop looking at it. _This time he'll keep bleeding,_ Yusuf thinks. _This time he'll die, and stay dead, and I will end this curse. This time… this time, I’ll leave a mark._

The blood keeps welling up, the Frank's heavy breathing the only sound to reach Yusuf’s ears. Neither of them move. The cut isn't deep enough to properly kill the Frank, but it's deep enough that it doesn't instantly disappear, the blood flowing steadily down his neck to his collarbone. Yusuf can't stop looking at it, the contrast between the dark red blood and the sun-touched skin of the Frank stark and appealing.

The Frank stabs him in the side, thrusting deep. Yusuf curses, pressing his own sword harder against the throat of his enemy. The look in the Frank's eyes is defiant, like he's filled with the favor of his god and could keep doing this forever. Killing Yusuf. Being killed by Yusuf.

Under his sword, the cut Yusuf made slowly starts to close, the skin knitting back together. It's nauseating to watch, although that might also be Yusuf's own blood loss at work.

They can't keep doing this, Yusuf thinks desperately. He can feel the Frank's arm tense, and after days of this battle, he knows what comes next, knows that next, the Frank will thrust his dagger up under Yusuf's ribs again. He knows it'll kill him once more, and he is so very tired.

 _Enough,_ Yusuf thinks as he slides his sword over the Frank's throat, the blade biting deep. _No more,_ he thinks as the Frank thrusts up his dagger, and then pulls it out with the last of his strength, as Yusuf’s life’s blood flows out all over the Frank. 

_We should live,_ Yusuf thinks as he slumps down, toppling over on top of the Frank. 

_Let us_ **_live_ ** _,_ he prays, his lips moving soundlessly against the Frank's skin. Yusuf tastes the copper of blood on his tongue, not sure whether the blood he tastes is his own or the Frank's.

But maybe that doesn't matter anymore.

Maybe it's _their_ blood now.

##  **1104**

"Yusuf!" The scream echoes through the canyon. 

When Yusuf turns around, he drops the waterskin, the water soaking the dust and clay, turning it dark red. Nicolo is slipping, his hands trying and failing to find purchase on the rocky hillside. The rocks are sliding down the steep cliff behind him, tumbling into the ravine. Nicolo, always so balanced on his feet, loses his footing and falls, more rocks sliding along with him, carrying him with them.

 _He's caught in a rockslide,_ Yusuf realizes in horror. _He'll go down into the ravine._

Cursing, Yusuf frantically makes his way to the edge, running and stumbling, slowing down only when he is at risk of getting caught in the slippery rocks himself. When he reaches the edge, his heart skips a beat when he sees Nicolo's hands, still holding on to some roots stuck in the earth. Wasting no time, Yusuf reaches down and wraps his fingers around Nicolo's wrist. 

"Yusuf," Nicolo says, his voice no more than a whisper. The clattering of rocks seems to echo in Yusuf's ears every time Nicolo's dangling feet scrabble at the ravine's flank. Nicolo’s eyes are wide with fear, his face even paler than normal. But there's relief there too, and for a moment, Yusuf wonders at how fast their hearts have changed. It was not so long ago that Yusuf would have happily let him fall to his death, hoping that it would stick this time.

"I cannot let you fall," Yusuf says, words tumbling from his lips of their own will. 

Nicolo takes a couple of deep breaths, nods, then shakes his head. "You should let go,” he says, clear-eyed and certain despite the situation. “So we don't both go down. I'll wake up and, when I do, I will find my way back to you."

Everything in Yusuf revolts at the idea of letting go. Of Nicolo falling to his death, of his body lying broken at the bottom of the ravine. Of him waking up alone. 

Of Nicolo not waking up at all, leaving Yusuf behind. Alone and, worse, never having told Nicolo how he feels.

Yusuf’s shaking his head before he can speak, panicked and instinctive. "I won't let you go." He looks into Nicolo's eyes, pleading with him to understand. "You cannot die."

Nicolo huffs, managing to be exasperated with Yusuf even while he hangs from a ravine's edge. "Exactly - I cannot die. Not truly." He takes a deep breath, resolve filling his eyes. "You can let me go, Yusuf."

Yusuf tightens his grip, his fingers aching with it, his whole arm trembling. He can feel Nicolo's pulse under his fingers, the beat seeming louder than an avalanche, its thunder echoing in Yusuf's ear.

Yusuf can't let him die. What if... what if this time, Nicolo doesn't wake up? What if Yusuf is left to roam this earth alone? What if he never gets to see Nicolo smile again or hear him stumble over his attempts at Arabic or feel the familiar warmth of Nicolo’s body against his as he wakes?

He _can’t_ let go.

Pebbles and dirt keep sliding down around him. Yusuf can feel the stones under him shift, and he slides down a little himself. He tightens his hand around Nicolo's wrist even more and bites back a desperate curse. Carefully, he tries to find something to hold on to, a root to hook his feet behind, a rock to brace against with his other hand. He finds nothing but loose, treacherous rocks. When he dislodges one, and it almost hits Nicolo in the face on its way down, Yusuf stops trying.

He just holds on.

"Nicolo," he pleads, mouth dry and filled with the taste of dust. He's coated with it, covered in it. It fills his mouth, nose, and eyes, and he has to blink to see Nicolo clearly. "Please, _try_."

Nicolo smiles at him. "It's okay, Yusuf, you can let go." More dust falls down, and Nicolo closes his eyes to shield them. When he opens them again, he looks as desperate as Yusuf feels. "Don't let me drag you with me, Yusuf, please. I _will_ come back to you. I swear. I'll find my way back up. Let me go."

"I _can't_ ," Yusuf whispers. The rocks shift again, so they both slip down a little further. Nicolo's fingers scratch at him, but he can barely move them because of how hard Yusuf is holding onto his wrist. Yusuf's arm starts to tremble, almost shaking now, pain shooting up his arm and back. He won't be able to hold on much longer, but Yusuf refuses to let go. 

"Yusuf, I-"

With a soft clattering, the rocks slide down further, taking Yusuf with them to the brink of the precipice. He digs the fingers of his free hand into the rocks around him while he keeps holding onto Nicolo with his other hand. He tries to dig his feet in too, but there's nothing against which to brace himself. His fingers are bleeding now, the sting of it making it even harder to find purchase in the earth. His chest is now half hanging over the ravine.

"Yusuf, _ple-_ "

The rocks shift and Nicolo falls, taking Yusuf with him.

He doesn't let go.

Yusuf’s whole body aches and his head pounds so loud it’s like he’s hitting the ground with it, so it takes him a couple of moments to make sense of what Nicolo is shouting at him.

"- and why would you do that? What's the use of us both dying!? I would've woken up and found a way out, but no, you _had_ to try and save me, when we both know I _can't_ be saved, and now _you're_ the one not waking up, and-"

Nicolo is shouting. He never shouts.

Even his fingernails hurt, and Nicolo is shouting at _him._

"Do you think I could forgive myself if you didn't wake up? If you _died_ for me after all the times I tried to kill you?"

Nicolo's voice turns quieter, with a sad, desperate quality to it that sounds all wrong even through the whooshing in Yusuf's ears. 

Yusuf opens his eyes. Nicolo stops talking. He looks terrible, covered in dust and dirt, his face pale, dried blood at his temple and the corner of his mouth. The red clay is smeared under his eyes, and it takes Yusuf a couple of moments to understand why. To understand that Nicolo has been crying.

"'Mfine," Yusuf croaks. He’s trying to reassure Nicolo, but his voice cracks and he starts to cough, his body desperately trying to dislodge all the dust and blood filling his lungs.

Nicolo swipes spit and blood from Yusuf's mouth and tears open the collar of his tunic to ease his breathing. His hands go from clutching at the torn fabric to spreading out, his fingers and palms pressed against Yusuf's chest, which doesn't help Yusuf breathe, but does help with the ache in his heart somehow.

"You stupid, stupid man," Nicolo says when Yusuf finally stops caughing. "What were you thinking?"

"That I couldn't let you go," Yusuf says, his voice still hoarse. He doesn't mean to say it quite like that, but death always makes him too honest.

Nicolo blinks, frowns, then looks down to where he's still clutching at Yusuf's chest. Yusuf follows his eyes, swallowing when he sees what Nicolo is looking at. There's a dark bruise circling Nicolo's wrist, black and purple still. Nicolo has healed enough to be sitting up and admonish Yusuf with his righteous anger, but not enough that his bruises have started to heal. The sight makes Yusuf's blood thrum in his veins. 

It's been a long time since Yusuf left a mark on Nicolo, and a longer time still since the mark didn't disappear immediately before his eyes. Yusuf licks his lips, coughing when he tastes dirt and blood. He can't stop looking at it. Nicolo's hands are covered in dust and blood like the rest of him, but under that, his skin on the inside of his wrist and forearm is still pale. The contrast with the bruise is stark and, if Yusuf squints a little, he thinks he can discern a fingerprint.

 _His_ fingerprint. On Nicolo's skin.

Yusuf swallows, the ache in his bones forgotten. He lifts a hand and, ever so carefully, touches a fingertip to the darkest part of the bruise, right over Nicolo's pulse point. He can feel Nicolo's pulse flutter, and his skin is warm to the touch. Nicolo's breath catches, and it's that soft sound that makes Yusuf tear his eyes away from the bruise to look at Nicolo's face. He doesn't stop touching Nicolo's wrist though, doesn’t stop brushing his fingertip over the sensitive skin.

Nicolo no longer looks sad, and his cheeks have lost their pallor, a flush bringing color to his face. 

"I left a mark on you," Yusuf says nonsensically, when what he really means to say is _I didn't mean to hurt you_.

Or, _I'm sorry for not saving you._

Or, _I will never let you go._

Or, _please don't leave me._

"You didn't let go," Nicolo whispers, voice filled with... with wonder?

Before Yusuf can gather what Nicolo's tone of voice might mean, Nicolo turns his hand in Yusuf's, wrapping his own fingers around Yusuf's wrist. He presses his thumb to Yusuf's pulse point, and Yusuf has to swallow to hide his reaction. His whole body aches again, but not with the pain of his fall or the agony of his body stitching itself together.

Now, he aches with longing.

"Nicolo, I"m-" Yusuf starts, but Nicolo doesn't let him fumble for the words to express his feelings. Instead, Nicolo closes his eyes, presses Yusuf's hand to his chest, then ducks down and kisses him.

Nicolo is _kissing_ him.

Yusuf's sob is lost against Nicolo's lips, and then Nicolo’s tongue is chasing his breaths, and Yusuf is falling all over again.

When they finally part, both breathless and grinning, Yusuf's body no longer aches. Instead, he's overflowing with joy and elation, his heart so filled with affection that it feels like it might burst. His body has healed, and his soul feels whole, and his heart... his heart no longer belongs to him.

They look at each other. Nicolo is still leaning over Yusuf, still holding on to Yusuf's wrist, and Yusuf's eyes dart down to Nicolo’s hand. Nicolo's skin is back to its normal hue, no trace of the bruise left. _We must have kissed for a long time,_ Yusuf thinks, a little hysterically. His brain is buzzing, thoughts flitting through his head too fast to make sense of. Maybe they should kiss again, kiss until Yusuf can make sense of the world once more.

"It's gone," he says, tapping a finger to Nicolo's wrist. He doesn't mean to sound wistful, hadn’t meant to say anything about the bruise at all, but his thoughts keep going back to how it had looked, his handprint on Nicolo's skin.

Nicolo smiles and shakes his head a little, his expression filled with familiar exasperation. "I'll remember," he says softly. "You didn't let go of me. I don't need tokens to remember that."

It's too much - to be understood like this, to be seen so clearly, when nothing feels clear to Yusuf himself anymore. It's too much. So, instead of trying to formulate an answer or an explanation, Yusuf pulls Nicolo down for another kiss. Their breaths mingle between the slow caresses of their lips, and Yusuf feels…

He feels like he never wants this to end, but then Nicolo is pulling away, his voice grave and serious, his eyes intent.

"Don't ever do that again," he says.

But Yusuf can't make a promise like that. He knows himself. He'll always try to catch Nicolo. Always try to save him from death and pain.

So, he kisses the words from Nicolo’s lips and pulls Nicolo on top of him.

He's _never_ letting go.

##  **1632**

"I hate the cold," Niko complains when he enters the hut, his arms filled with firewood. "Whose idea was it to come so far north?"

"Yours," Yusuf happily reminds him. "You wanted to see Galileo’s aurora borealis. Which is why you're the one on firewood duty." 

Yusuf hates the cold as much as Niko does, but he's spent most of the day by the fireside writing and rewriting poetry in his head. He's been nice and warm. Niko, on the other hand, has spent the last two hours chopping firewood. So, even though this was all Niko’s idea, Yusuf helps him bring the wood inside, throwing two blocks on the fire to stoke it higher and making a neat pile of the rest of it. 

Niko has managed to take off his boots and his mittens, but he hasn't undressed any further. Yusuf looks over at Niko as he stands by the fire blowing on his fingers and rubbing his hands together to warm up.

He's dressed in thick pants, woolen socks and at least three layers of garments, all covered with a thick fur coat. He's let down his hood, but his face is still framed with the fur lining of it. As is the custom here, he's let his hair and beard grow out, so all that Yusuf can see of his beloved is his eyes, clear and pretty as always, and his red lips. 

"I hate the cold," Yusuf says, taking Niko’s hands in his to warm them up, "for it covers your beauty behind all these layers." Yusuf pointedly starts to untie the leather knots of his coat. "And even when you're bared between our bedfurs, you're still hidden behind this." Yusuf tugs at Niko’s beard.

Niko only grumbles and pushes his cold hands under Yusuf's clothing. Yusuf hisses at the shock, but he'd never deny his beloved the comfort of skin against skin. _The things I do for love_ , he thinks dryly.

"I didn't think it would be this cold," Niko admits, pressing his cold face against Yusuf's neck. Yusuf curses and slaps at Nicolo's side, but otherwise, he doesn't object. 

"It's good that there are still things to learn, I guess," Yusuf says, still working on untying Niko’s coat, his efforts hampered by the way Niko is trying to press himself against Yusuf's chest. It's not the first time Yusuf has undressed his beloved, so eventually, he manages to divest Niko of his coat and pulls him in front of the fire. The hut came with a roughly hewn wooden bench, which they had covered with furs until it became a comfortable and warm place to unwind. He pushes Niko onto it, covers him with the thick blanket from their bed, and leaves him to warm up while Yusuf makes tea.

After one cup of steaming tea and another log on the fire, Niko seems to become more himself.

"Maybe we shouldn't have come here," he murmurs, hands still wrapped around his cup, feet now tucked under Yusuf's thighs. 

Yusuf shrugs. "We can always travel back south. It'll be a hard journey in the cold, but the further south we go, the warmer it'll get." Yusuf dislikes traveling in winter in these Northern parts, but if Niko is unhappy here, he'd face the cold for him. "However, it would be a slow journey, and we'd probably be warmer if we spent the winter here as planned."

Niko chews his lips. "We haven't seen the aurora yet. What if the weather stays bad? Or what if we aren't far north enough? What if I dragged you all the way here for nothing?"

Yusuf smiles. "Then we'll have spent the winter with each other. I can write poetry, you can work on your translation. We can keep each other warm." Yusuf waggles his eyebrows suggestively until Niko cracks a smile. "If the Northern Lights make no appearance, we can watch the stars together. There are worse ways to spend a winter. Remember Brest? It rained for four months." It hadn't, but it had felt like it to Yusuf. Niko might hate the cold, but Yusuf hates being wet more.

Niko sighs, obviously still not entirely convinced this wasn't a terrible choice, but he leans forward to kiss Yusuf nevertheless. "We'll give it another fortnight," he concedes. 

Yusuf pats him on the leg, then untangles himself from the furs to prepare their food. It looks like it might be a clear night tonight, so if they're going to face the cold in the hopes of seeing the aurora, they'll need warm food in their bellies. Luckily, Yusuf had already been working on their dinner in preparation.

Niko stokes up the fire after Yusuf fishes out more coals to finish heating the food. The earthen pot might not be the local way of making food, but it works well, and Yusuf has always liked preparing food this way. 

By the time they've eaten, the fire is roaring like an inferno, their stomachs are filled with hot stew, and Yusuf is almost sweating. Niko, who's sitting even closer to the hearth, has divested himself of most of his clothing while they ate. His undershirt is wide at the collar, and Yusuf enjoys catching glimpses of his collarbone and soft, glowing skin. 

The weather stays clear, so after a long dinner – the stew was delicious, even if Yusuf says so himself – it's time to wrap themselves up again. Yusuf will happily help Niko wrap himself up again, but first... first, Yusuf needs to kiss him. 

Niko’s beard prickles against his cheeks, and although it's not new or the first time Niko has chosen to have a beard, he's still gone barefaced for most of their long lives together. It thrills Yusuf in surprising ways, and it gives him _ideas_. After Yusuf has kissed them both breathless, and Niko’s hands have found themselves into Yusuf’s trousers, Yusuf trails his lips down his lover’s face. Niko easily tilts his head back, making Yusuf smile against his naked skin. Niko knows him well. 

He kisses the underside of Niko’s jaw, follows the edge of his beard with his lips. When he can feel Niko's heartbeat against his mouth, Yusuf bites down gently. He kisses and sucks on all that soft skin that he doesn't get to see when Niko is dressed for the weather, not stopping Niko's skin feels hot to the touch, Niko is panting, and Yusuf is almost ready to forget the Northern Lights altogether and retire to their bed for the night.

When he looks up, Niko looks devastating in the warm light of the candles and fire. His lips are kiss-bitten, his cheeks are flushed, and his throat is littered with the bruises left by Yusuf's mouth, the skin around them rosy with beard burn. Over the years, Yusuf has perfected the balance between bruises dark enough that they show on Niko's skin, but spread out enough and light enough that they don't instantly trigger their healing abilities. It had taken a lot of trial and error, a lot of rubbing his beard all over Niko's body, a lot of sucking bruises onto every inch of skin, and Yusuf had enjoyed every second of the discovery process.

Now, Yusuf knows that bite marks on Niko's ass will linger a long time, as long as he doesn't draw blood, but that bruises on the inside of Niko’s thighs will fade much quicker if he leaves too many of them. 

"You don't have to hold back," Niko moans softly, tilting his chin back a little. Yusuf would take his invitation, but no matter how much joy and satisfaction lie in littering Nicolo's skin with marks, there's just as much joy and satisfaction in knowing they're _there_. So, Yusuf trails his fingers softly over the bruises and the reddened skin connecting them. "No matter how much I enjoy creating constellations and galaxies on your skin, I promised you the stars and the aurora tonight, so that is what we will do." He kisses the hollow of Niko's throat softly, then steps back. "Later, we shall come back to this."

He can't quite stop touching Niko, however, as he helps him dress for the cold. Slowly, layer by layer, Yusuf's marks disappear beneath Niko's clothing. But they're still there as he covers them up, which means he doesn't see them fade and instead can imagine them still lingering underneath all the fabric. The thought alone is enough to keep Yusuf's arousal simmering while he gets dressed himself.

They bring furs out into the open to shield them from the frozen earth and huddle close. At first, it looks like another night with clouds masking the starry skies. But the clouds clear, and the stars peek through. Just when Yusuf is ready to give up hope for tonight, the sky comes alive. Green with dashes of blue and violet... colors dance across the sky.

Niko's breath catches, and Yusuf reaches for his hand, even though they can't clasp their hands together properly with their mittens in the way.

"It's beautiful," Niko whispers. 

It really is one of the most beautiful and magical sights Yusuf has ever seen. But, like always, eventually, his eyes dart back to Niko. "It's worth the cold," Niko says, as if he can sense Yusuf’s eyes on him.

Yusuf takes it all in: How everything in the North seems to work to hide his beloved, and how his beauty still shines through the inky darkness that surrounds them. The thick coat with the hood almost obscuring Niko's face. The smile curving his lips, a hint of his teeth visible despite the beard. The way his breaths come out in small white clouds. The light of the aurora is reflected in Niko's eyes, glinting with wonder even in the dark. And beneath all that, hidden by the dark and four layers of clothing, are Yusuf's marks still set into Niko's skin.

 _Beautiful,_ Yusuf thinks, _and completely worth it._

##  **1983**

Yusuf learns about the art of tattoos when he meets Andromache. She doesn’t have many, and they aren’t in places that are often bared to the public eye, so it is some time before he notices them. The ones she has are old and slowly fading, becoming fainter every time she regenerates. It isn’t an art style Yusuf is familiar with, and they feel old and alien, so while he doesn’t ask, he can't help but look at them. Eventually, she takes pity on his artist's soul and explains the stories behind some of them. The rituals she has taken part in, the places she has traveled to, the people she has lived with... Andromache has lived so long that the tales she tells are only a fraction of what she remembers, and what she remembers is only a fraction of what she has lived through. Still, some of those memories are inked onto her skin, a constant reminder of her past.

It makes Yusuf yearn to create reminders of his own. He sketches and writes poetry, spending years perfecting his arts. They live long lives and die too many deaths, and there are lots of things he feels no need to remember. But the beauty of Nicolo's smile in the sunset, the joy they find in their companionship with Andromache and Quynh, the love that fills his heart day after day, those are the things that Yusuf wants to commemorate.

Joe learns the art of tattooing in the ‘80s. Nicky makes an offhand remark about appreciating a woman's tattoo, and it's like a light explodes in Joe’s brain. _Nicky_ could be his canvas.

He takes his time studying the art of it, wanting to master the craft before he ever puts a needle to Nicky's skin. Everything will heal and fade away eventually – Andromache's skin has been bare for centuries now – but Joe doesn't want to mar Nicky's skin with subpar work.

His beloved is already a masterpiece. Joe will not add a single line unless it will enhance Nicky in some way.

It doesn't stop him from sketching like a maniac, idea after idea discarded after not being deemed good enough. "Why don't you sketch on my skin," Nicky suggests, slightly exasperated when he finds Joe on their bed amidst a pile of crumpled papers yet again. "You'll never be sure how it looks if you don't see it on me."

Joe smiles and pulls Nicky down onto the bed. His beloved is a genius, and before any sketching can happen, Joe has to show his appreciation. Thoroughly

Once Nicky has suggested being Joe's sketchbook, Joe can't stop drawing on him. He starts with more traditional pieces, both abstract and figurative. The sight of dark ink on Nicky's pale skin never fails to stir something in Yusuf, and all too often, his pens end up being discarded, soon followed by both of their clothes. He can't quite seem to find a style that suits both him and Nicky. It's infuriating, but it proves that Joe was right to wait. So he perfects his craftsmanship whenever they have downtime, spending many an evening drawing on Nicky's skin and visiting all the tattoo artists he can find to seek inspiration.

"While you figure out what you want to do, can I make a request?" Nicky asks one day.

Joe nods. "Of course, I'll fulfill all of your wishes, if they’re within my power."

Nicky smiles and kisses Joe's ink stained fingertips. "The poem you wrote in Cadiz while we were apart? I think I'd like the last line of that inked on my wrist." Nicky points at his wrist.

Joe nods, but it's not until he's written down his own words on Nicky's skin - _his_ words of love and devotion on Nicky’s skin, in the place where he’d held onto Nicky so tightly all those centuries ago - that it clicks into place for Joe.

Poetry has always been how Joe makes sense of the world, so it only follows that, in this too, poetry would be how he best expresses himself.

Slowly but surely, Joe starts filling his canvas. 

"Remember the mosaics in Constantinople?" Joe asks while they're taking a shower. "The ones from our favorite bathhouse?" 

Nicky nods.

"I was thinking of putting that design here, down your leg."

Nicky agrees, and soon, Nicky's legs are covered in intricate ornamentation positioned a thousand times until Joe figures out the perfect configuration. "This way, there will be enough bare skin left for me to leave a mark on," Joe says, and then, he does exactly that, sucking at the tender skin of the inside of Nicky's thigh.

"Remember the song Quynh used to sing from her people? The one she taught us about the maiden?" Joe asks one evening, while they’re reading in bed. Nicky bites his lip, then starts singing, voice getting surer and stronger the longer he sings. Joe’s heart fills with grief and longing at the memories flooding through him, and they're both crying before the song comes to an end.

"The chorus," Nicky says softly after they've dried their tears. 

Joe agrees. "On your hip, where she hit you with an arrow once.”

"Remember Andy's oldest tattoo? The Scythian one? Can we honor her like that?" Nicky agrees and helps him research. They show their final sketch to Andy when they think they've grasped it, and she makes Joe work on it for another two weeks before she deems it acceptable. He offers to give her the same one, but she declines. 

"Remember Cairo?" Nicky asks.

"Remember Jaipur?" Yusuf offers. "Remember Leningrad?" "Remember Casablanca?" 

"Remember Malta?"

Word after word, stanza after stanza, Joe covers Nicky's back with poetry. Every attempt Joe had made to capture Nicky's essence into words, every memory put into writing, all the love and longing and devotion Joe has tried to memorialize. If, after all this time, he still finds beauty in the words, still recognizes Nicky and himself in them, he'll find a place for them on Nicky's skin.

They don't always agree. Joe is a harsher critic of his own work than Nicky, and not every memory carries the same weight for them both. But as promised, Joe fulfills every one of Nicky's requests.

"One more for now," Joe says, sitting astride Nicky's hips. He strokes his thumb over Nicky's throat to the start of his unmarked collarbone, following a path only familiar to himself. When Nicky looks up at him, a question in his eyes, Joe feels himself flush. "It's the first mark I left on you intentionally," he admits, "the last time we killed each other." He follows the path again, reverent and thrilling with awareness. "I thought... eight dots, one for every time I killed you."

Nicky frowns. He doesn't object right away, but he takes his time to think it over. Eventually, he takes Joe's hand from where he's still trailing his fingers over Nicky's throat. Nicky kisses his ink-stained fingers, then his wrist.

"Okay," Nicky says. "But only if you get a similar one, here around your wrist, with a dot for every century we've loved each other."

Joe swallows, his throat thick with emotion.

"Okay," he says and closes their deal with a kiss.

"It's more," Joe marvels some time later. "It's nine dots."

"It's more," Nicky agrees, grinning and pinning Joe against the bed as he ducks down to leave a few marks of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw your prompt for writing or drawing on each other's bodies, thought "ooh marking regenerating bodies", and ended up here. I hope you like your gift!
> 
> Title inspired by Hafiz.  
> Apologies for any crimes against history, science and tattooing, I did my best.  
> Galileo coined the term aurora borealis in 1619.  
> Yusuf prepared dinner in a tajine, because I think that would work really well when cooking in colder climates too.  
> The Scythians had awesome tattoos, and at some point, when life is less *this*, I'll make a post with references I used.  
> In a kinder world, I would have written the poetry as well.  
> Instead, I leave you with a line from one of my favorite poems, which was responsible for much of the moodsetting of this fic.
> 
> ‘Het is zo moeilijk je tedere dingen op een tedere manier te herinneren’ - Peter Verhelst.  
>  _It's so difficult to remember tender things in a tender way_
> 
> I would never have been able to finish this fic without my beta Ren, so all the gratitude for them.


End file.
